BC

A general shabbiness;
a hobo playing harmonica
--- badly ---
next to his overburdened
harnessed bicycle;
hippies everywhere,
of both the
has-been &
wannabe
variations.

They were "far out",
"out there",
"there for you",
"you kiddin' me?",
"me myself and I",
"I love you",
but now they're
numbing themselves
with TV
like everybody
else.

And me,
well I never
enjoy myself
stuck
in a perpetual
crisis,
and I just can't
escape into
anything
anymore...
alcohol makes me
sleepy,
weed makes me
panicky,
and my normal self
is just
not cutting it.

Not by a long shot.

What am I supposed to do,
here,
where everybody
is so
grown up,
so self-reliant,
so resourceful,
so independent &
brave?

I'm just a clueless
& weak
bookworm.

Here
--- like everywhere else ---
I feel lost,
and I don't belong,
and I'm alone,
and uneasy,
barely able to
function and
maintain
whatever's left
of my Self.

I'm sick,
sick of everything,
and I just want
to drift off
into Imagination
for the rest of my Life,
with whoever
is willing
to be by
my side.

Alone, if it comes to that.
Or not at all,
if I ever find myself
There.